


Violette de Bordeaux

by shellikybookie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Docking, Hand Feeding, Lap Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellikybookie/pseuds/shellikybookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever eaten figs, Will?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violette de Bordeaux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lick_j](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lick_j/gifts).



> See the beautiful [illustration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2868554) for this story that [Artmetica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Artmetica/pseuds/Artmetica) drew, commissioned for me by the lovely [lick_j](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lick_j)

_The good part comes between wanting and needing_  
_When it’s less about eating and more about feeding_

_\- Arab Strap, “The Good Part”_

 

"Have you ever eaten figs, Will?" Hannibal asked.

It wasn't the most conventional way to begin a therapy session, but then Dr. Lecter wasn't the most conventional of therapists. The question should have been a non sequitur, but over the course of their association, Will had become resigned to Hannibal's constant attempts to feed him as though he were a stray dog. "Sure. In cookies, anyway, when I was a kid," he answered with a slight wrinkle of his nose at the memory of the grainy, too-sweet taste.

Hannibal gave a soft tut of disapproval. "Not at all comparable to the fresh fruit," he said. He set a bowl down on the glass side table next to Will’s chair, and it was full of round, velvet-skinned purple-brown fruits. Their aroma was honey-sweet.

"These were a gift from a patient who knows my taste for them," Hannibal explained, plucking a fig from the dish with light fingers. "Violette de Bordeaux, prized for their rich colour and sweet taste." He split the fruit open to reveal the succulent red flesh inside. The image was powerfully visceral in a way that Will couldn't quite explain, the soft skin parting without resistance, bleeding juices.

Seeming to sense the turn of Will's thoughts, Hannibal said, "In ancient times, figs were a symbol of bounty and of fertility. The word for 'fig' in Greek is the same as the word for 'vulva'."

Will knew Hannibal was watching him - watching for a reaction, he thought wryly - but couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes. He didn't consider himself a prude, but he could have lived happily without ever hearing Hannibal say the word 'vulva'. But now that he had made the comparison, Will couldn't un-see it. There was something decidedly... vaginal about the dripping fruit. Will watched a drop of nectar slide slowly down to Hannibal's wrist and swallowed hard. “Oh…” he said laconically, which was the most articulate response he seemed to be able to manage at the moment.

Hannibal offered him the fig, but when Will went to take it, Hannibal pulled back his hand just enough to prevent him. Will looked up at him in confusion. "The skin contains a proteolytic enzyme. It can irritate the lips and tongue. Don't bite down. Suck."

It was a simple instruction: suck. It shouldn't have made Will's heart lurch and his stomach flutter the way it did, but there was something in the way Hannibal said it, something in the way he held out the fruit invitingly. Temptation.

Hesitantly, Will leaned forward to take it, not with his hand, but with his mouth. He sucked at the pulp as Hannibal had instructed, and luscious sweetness burst over his tongue. Will worked at the fruit with his lips and tongue until he had eaten it out. The sticky-sweet juice smeared his lips and chin; it dripped from Hannibal's fingers, and in a fit of... he didn't know, pique perhaps... Will swiped his tongue along the inside of Hannibal's wrist, sucked the juice from his palm. He was oddly gratified to hear the quiet gasp that Hannibal made. He'd caught the man by surprise, turned this game around on him in a way he hadn't anticipated. Will drew back, wiping his mouth with his hand.

"You're right," he said, more archly than he was wont. "It doesn't compare to the real thing."

Hannibal’s head cocked slightly to the side in an attitude of evaluation that Will knew well: piqued curiosity. The faintest suggestion of a quizzical smile softened Hannibal’s mouth and narrowed his eyes, but his gaze was intent, searching. “Will…” Hannibal’s voice was pitched low, and Will heard the question and the warning in it.

Will heard it, and he let it sink in, allowed himself to consider the possibilities. He licked his lips, tasting sweetness there, and he saw Hannibal mirror him. Perhaps it was that which made him ask with a challenging tilt of his head, “May I have another?”

Will saw the moment that Hannibal realised he had changed the rules of the game. He saw Hannibal’s eyes darken with the knowledge, heard the slow, controlled breath that Hannibal exhaled like a sigh, and he knew, abruptly, that Hannibal had been waiting for this. They had been edging towards this line slowly, carefully, maybe for a long time, but it had to be Will who crossed it finally, from not-quite patient, to friend, to… what? What was this? _Whatever you need it to be_ , Hannibal had said once, and maybe it was as simple as that.

“Of course,” Hannibal replied indulgently, and he selected another fig from the bowl. This one he held to his nose. His lips caressed the smooth skin, and his eyes closed as he inhaled its aroma of sun-drenched sweetness. “The fig’s season is short, ripe for only a day or two before it begins to spoil,” Hannibal mused as he halved the soft fruit with a practiced twist of his thumbs. “Like so many of life’s simple pleasures, we must enjoy it while we can.”

Hannibal held out the fig, and Will opened his mouth to receive it, but Hannibal was in a teasing mood. He traced the shape of Will’s lips with the succulent fruit, painting them with honeyed nectar so that they glistened. Will, not in a mood to be teased, took Hannibal’s fingers along with the fig, sucking and licking at them as hungrily as at the fruit. He drew back only so that he could swallow, and when he had, he asked, “What about you?”

“Me?” Hannibal questioned with a disingenuous tone and a smile that was anything but.

“Aren't you going to ‘enjoy it while you can’?” Will gave Hannibal back his own words.

“Oh, yes,” Hannibal answered, and even though Will had half expected it ( _invited it_ , his inner voice corrected him), it was still a shock when Hannibal leaned down to kiss him, but Will found himself responding without thinking, his lips parting under the gentle insistence of Hannibal’s tongue. He felt Hannibal’s hand come to rest under his jaw, and Will’s pulse fluttered wildly under Hannibal’s fingertips as, at their urging, he angled his head up to allow better access. The kiss deepened. Hannibal’s tongue slid against his and, in a lightheaded moment, Will wondered if he tasted of figs. Hannibal nipped lightly at Will’s lips. “Sweet,” he murmured in that sometimes weird way he had of intuiting Will’s thoughts, though whether he meant the flavour of the fruit or the kiss itself, Will couldn't be sure.

Will wasn't about to ask. He crushed their mouths together again with a desperation born of nerves. Without Hannibal’s help, he had to stretch to do it. There was no finesse to it, but Hannibal seemed to appreciate Will’s enthusiasm; he tolerated it for a moment before the hand over Will’s throat pressed him back, breaking the contact. Hannibal knelt down, putting them more on a level. He braced his hands on the arms of Will’s chair, boxing him in, forcing Will to spread his legs to make room for him. “Don’t be in such a rush,” he said with a trace of warm amusement. “Savour it.”

“While it lasts?” Will said softly, breathlessly, while Hannibal kissed down the line of his jaw to suck at the point of his pulse. He felt more than heard Hannibal hum in agreement. Hannibal’s fingers toyed with the buttons of Will’s shirt, and he began popping them open one at a time as he nipped playfully at each new inch of exposed skin. Will gasped when Hannibal’s teeth closed not quite gently around the peaked bud of a nipple. He fisted his hand in the fine wool of Hannibal’s jacket and was not satisfied. He wanted to feel warm skin under his hands. He tugged impatiently on the jacket, causing Hannibal to look up from his ministrations with a slight frown of disapproval, but he took Will’s cue.

Rather than simply shrugging the jacket off, Hannibal stood to remove it and draped it neatly over the back of the other chair. Even at a time like this, he was unfailingly proper. Watching him, Will felt the urge to laugh hysterically, but he didn't think it would be well received. Hannibal unbuttoned his waistcoat next, and it followed the jacket. His fingers worked loose the immaculate knot of his tie, undid the first few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, and suddenly Will didn't feel like laughing anymore. Instead he was caught in admiring the vee of tanned skin that was revealed, the dark smattering of chest hair. He had never before contemplated running his tongue along the dip of a man’s clavicle, but he was doing it now. The attraction of the unknown, he told himself. He was used to the buttoned-up Dr. Lecter. The departure was… appealing.

Will stared openly, and he saw how it pleased Hannibal in the way he lingered over each button, prolonging the process to draw out Will’s anticipation. _Vain_ , Will thought with amusement, but he had to admit that Hannibal had reason to be. Still, it only seemed fair to turn the tables. Casually, Will trailed his fingers down his own chest, caressing the way he imagined Hannibal might. His hand dropped lower, running over his stomach and teasing at his belt before meandering back up to play idly with one nipple. And he had Hannibal’s attention. Oh, did he. Hannibal’s gaze followed every minute gesture hotly as though he was imagining his own hands running over Will’s smooth skin. Will was sure he was.

“Come here,” Hannibal said, his voice hushed but compelling.

Will rose from his chair, came forward with deliberate slowness, and Hannibal met him halfway, catching Will and pulling him in for a kiss that was almost punishing in its intensity. Hannibal kissed like he intended to devour. Will tasted the copper tang of blood between them and didn't know whose it was. He grabbed a fistful of Hannibal’s hair and pulled, forcing his head back, making Hannibal grunt in surprise.

“What happened to savouring?” Will said when he had taken a breath, though his voice sounded shaky even to him.

“I am,” Hannibal answered, and his tongue touched his bottom lip, licking away the spot of blood where he’d cut it on Will’s teeth. An inconsequential wound, but it would still be there tomorrow when Dr. Lecter saw his other patients. While they poured out their banal troubles, would he secretly let his tongue run over it and remember how he’d gotten it, Will wondered?

Hannibal pushed the shirt down off of Will’s shoulders, bending to place a kiss there, and Will pulled his arms free of the sleeves, letting it drop to the floor. He grabbed handfuls of Hannibal’s shirt and pulled it out of his trousers so that he could slip his hands underneath it, smooth his palms up the broad plane of Hannibal’s back. His fingertips followed the line of Hannibal’s spine, coming to rest at the small of his back. Hannibal leaned into him, and Will could feel the other man’s erection pressing against the curve of his hip. Hannibal wanted him to feel it, and Will felt his own cock twitch in response. Hannibal’s hand brushed his stomach, came to rest on the buckle of his belt and stopped there, venturing no further.

Will’s muscles tensed with a mixture of panic and excitement. This was really going to happen.

“Will...?”

“Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, and he took Hannibal’s hand and pressed it lower where he wanted it. “Yes, oh…” he said when Hannibal gripped him through his jeans and squeezed just hard enough to make him feel it. Will pushed against Hannibal’s hand, and it wasn't enough. It wasn't what he needed. “Come on,” he urged, the words half slurred by the sloppy kiss he pressed to Hannibal’s throat to encourage him.

Hannibal’s tongue teased the delicate shell of Will’s ear. His voice was soft and seductive: “What do you want, Will?”

That brought a sigh of frustration. Will’s fingers dug into Hannibal’s back, his short nails biting into skin. “You know what I want.” Embarrassment jumbled the words in a tangled rush. Sullenly, he said, “Don’t pretend you don’t want it, too.”

A breath of a laugh from Hannibal. “I do,” he answered - to which statement, it hardly mattered, because he worked open the buckle of Will’s belt and eased down his fly with a teasing slowness that had Will holding his breath in anticipation. It left him in a ragged sigh of relief when Hannibal finally, _finally_ wrapped his hand around Will’s cock and started to stroke, slowly at first, and then with purpose. Will tucked his head down against Hannibal’s shoulder, his breath coming in short, hot pants as his hips began to move, thrusting into the tight tunnel of Hannibal’s fingers. Hannibal’s other hand cupped and massaged Will’s balls, and Will was already so hard, he thought it wouldn't take long like this. He was almost…

But then it stopped. Hannibal’s fingers made a ring around the base of Will’s cock, squeezing more tightly than was comfortable. “Don’t. Don’t stop,” Will groaned. “Please. I want…”

Hannibal silenced him with a thorough, lingering kiss. “Let me do this properly,” he said, and of course Hannibal thought there was a proper way to do even this. Of course he did. Will could only look after him in amazement as Hannibal walked away from him, leaving Will standing half naked, achingly hard, and very confused. “Come,” Hannibal said, and Will almost retorted sardonically, _I would have_ , but he followed.

Hannibal sat in the chair Will had vacated, and he reached out to take hold of Will’s hips, to draw him closer. Will’s straining erection brushed Hannibal’s cheek as the other man leaned forward to kiss the taut muscles of his stomach, the point of a hip, and lower. He shoved Will’s jeans and boxers down his legs so that he could trail nibbling kisses up the inside of Will’s thighs, and Will, bracing himself with a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, spread his legs as much as he could to let Hannibal do it. Hannibal responded by trapping Will’s neglected cock against his belly and licking a hot stripe up the underside from his balls to the weeping tip. Hannibal’s lips rubbed at the head, spreading the fluid there, and trembling, Will hissed between clenched teeth, “Please, please, please, please…”

“Please?” Hannibal repeated, and he licked his lips, waiting.

“S-suck me…”

Hannibal’s smile in that moment was positively feline, and it lingered in his eyes when he took Will into his mouth. “Ohh…” Will breathed when that soft, wet heat engulfed him. His hips jerked, pushing himself deeper, and Hannibal, his jaw slack, let Will slide between his swollen, stretched lips without resistance, before pulling back to draw circles around the sensitive head of Will’s cock with his talented tongue. His hand curled around what his mouth didn't hold, stroking in counterpoint.

Will’s fingers carded through Hannibal’s hair, combing it back from where it had fallen across his brow. A rosy flush rode high on Hannibal’s cheeks, and Will followed the sharp line of a cheekbone with his thumb. Hannibal looked up at him with heavy, half-lidded eyes. He let Will’s cock slip from between his lips, and they were red and shining with saliva and precome, and Will felt an uncontrollable urge to kiss him, suddenly. He tipped Hannibal’s face up to his and brought their mouths together, not caring that he could taste himself on Hannibal’s lips. “I want to touch you,” Will said, and Hannibal answered, “ _Yes_ ,” with a force of such raw want that Will didn't know how he had stood it until now.

Will stepped out of his jeans and underwear and kicked them aside. Hannibal was still wearing too many clothes, but he intended to remedy that. He ran his hands up Hannibal’s thighs, and he heard the other man’s breath catch when Will’s palm grazed the bulge in the front of his trousers. It became a full-throated moan when Will grabbed and squeezed. “Take these off,” he said, and Hannibal pushed Will’s hands away so that he could undo the buttons himself, not trusting Will’s impatience to the task. He eased the material down past his hips along with his silk boxers, and his erection sprang free, hard and curving against his belly. He allowed Will to pull his trousers the rest of the way down his legs, frowning minutely when Will discarded them in a heap on the floor, but that was forgotten a moment later when Will’s fingers curled firmly around his cock.

Hannibal was hot in Will’s hand, his skin soft as silk. He wasn't circumcised, Will saw, which he might have guessed if he had given it any thought. He started to stroke experimentally, just slowly at first, drawing a shuddering sigh from Hannibal. Will watched, fascinated, as the flushed, leaking head of Hannibal’s cock disappeared and reappeared with the smooth slide of skin. Intrigued and aroused, Will asked with genuine curiosity, “What does that feel like?”

“Would you like to know?” Hannibal asked in a smouldering tone that sent a shiver up Will’s spine.

He had to swallow before he could speak. “What do you mean?”

“Come closer,” Hannibal invited, and he pulled Will into the chair with him so that the other man was straddling his lap. “Good,” he murmured. “Just like that. Closer.” His hands gripped the curve of Will’s ass, urging him closer still. Will could feel Hannibal’s erection jutting against his, and the sensation was foreign and exciting all at once. Will expelled a harsh breath when Hannibal’s large hand encircled them both, pressing and rubbing the dewy tips of their cocks together. Then Hannibal slid his hand forward and his foreskin stretched to engulf the head of Will’s cock as well.

“Ah!” Will’s soft exclamation was as much of surprise as pleasure at the feeling. Every small movement of Hannibal’s hand sent shocks of sensation through him. He could feel Hannibal rubbing against him inside the man’s own skin, hot and slick, and so good. It was strange - not something it would ever have occurred to Will to try - but it felt incredible.

“Is it good?” Hannibal’s voice was low and smoky, his accent softening and slurring the words. 

“It’s… Yes, it’s - oh!” Hannibal’s hand twisted and squeezed, pulling a gasp of pleasure from both of them.

“Show me how you like it,” Hannibal said, watching Will with dark eyes half closed in pleasure. Will made a sound of complaint when Hannibal withdrew his hand, but Hannibal said again, “Show me, Will.”

Will was already so flushed that his embarrassment could hardly register. What shyness he felt was distant. He was far beyond the point of caring. He replaced Hannibal’s hand with his own, and he felt Hannibal’s hips flex under him as Hannibal pushed into it. With his other hand, Will steadied himself tip to tip with Hannibal and, as Hannibal had done, he carefully slid the man’s foreskin down over his own cock. He was amazed at how far the supple sheath of skin could take him in, and he thought it must surely be uncomfortable for the other man, but the deep, pleasured sigh Hannibal gave seemed to suggest that it was anything but. His freed hands roamed over Will’s thighs, alternately caressing and kneading the tight muscles, and he whispered words that Will didn't understand but took for encouragement.

Will moved his hand in short, tight strokes. Hannibal’s breath was coming in shallow pants, now, and Will could tell he was close to the edge. Hannibal tensed, his fingers digging into the muscle of Will’s thighs hard enough to bruise, and Will felt the other man’s cock throb in his hand, felt the hot rush as Hannibal came with a low groan. Will continued to stroke him through it. He was using Hannibal’s body, now, to jerk himself off, and the thought alone was enough to make him moan aloud, but after a few moments, the stimulation became too much for Hannibal and he stopped Will with a hand over his.

“Fuck, Hannibal,” Will said raggedly when Hannibal pulled his hand away, breaking the contact between them. He felt Hannibal’s cum drip onto his thighs; it coated his cock, and Will didn't know if he was more disconcerted or turned on by that. His own need to come was like a heated coil, winding tighter and tighter in his belly, ready to snap. “Please!”

“Don’t be crude,” Hannibal chastised, but he took hold of Will’s cum-slick cock and pumped him with rough and merciful efficiency. Will leaned forward to brace himself with both hands on the back of the chair, his hips driving up to meet each of Hannibal’s downstrokes. It didn't take long. When the tension broke, it lashed through him with a wave of white-hot pleasure, and Will cried out sharply. He thrust against Hannibal once, twice more, spilling hotly between the other man’s fingers and painting his chest with stripes of pearly white.

Trembling with the aftershocks, Will collapsed bonelessly against Hannibal, bowing his head to rest brow to brow. Hannibal’s arms came around him to steady him, and his fingers combed slowly, soothingly through Will’s damp curls while they caught their breath. Will turned his head to place a self-consciously tender kiss on Hannibal’s cheek, another against the side of his neck, the point of his collarbone. He wasn't ready, yet, to let reality intrude on this warm and pleasant lassitude. But, presently, he became aware of the chill of sweat drying on his skin, the stickiness of semen. He remembered that this was Hannibal’s office - his place of work - and they couldn't stay like this indefinitely.

Will thought that Hannibal, as fastidious as he was, must only have been waiting for the signal from him, because the moment he pulled away, Hannibal reached for the box of tissues on the side table. He cleaned Will and himself as well as he could, though there was only so much a handful of dry tissues could do about semen matted in chest hair. “Sorry about that,” Will said, feeling guilty after the fact for making such a mess of the immaculate doctor, and a little dirty for the satisfaction he’d felt when he’d done it.

“It goes with the territory,” Hannibal replied with a small smile of easy dismissal.

“But in your office…”

“Hmn,” Hannibal intoned, and Will imagined his thoughts were currently occupied with disinfectant and leather cleaner. He motioned for Will to stand so that he could retrieve their clothing. “I hope you realise this is not something I make a habit of,” he said, rescuing his trousers from the floor, the spoiled pleat causing him to frown and tsk softly.

“Having sex with patients?” Will asked, in the process of tugging on his jeans, and he immediately saw Hannibal stiffen with offence. “I was joking,” he said timidly, but it came out sounding like an apology.

Hannibal must have taken it for one, too, because he relaxed fractionally and resumed dressing. “I don’t sleep with my patients, Will,” he said gravely.

Will was quiet, chastened.

Hannibal fixed him with a level gaze. “ _Are_ you my patient, Will? Is that the nature of our relationship?” Though Hannibal’s tone was as impassive as ever, there was an air of reproachful hurt about him when he asked the question. Or maybe it was only Will remembering the way Hannibal had looked at him in the moment before he’d kissed him.

“No. It’s more than that,” Will replied, aware that Hannibal already knew the answer, but also aware that he needed to hear it. Maybe Will needed to say it.

No sense of clarity accompanied the admission. He still didn't know what Hannibal was to him - what they were to each other. There were no simple words to define the relationship of two complicated men. But, Will realised, he didn't need it defined. He felt it. And, seeing the almost imperceptible smile that softened Hannibal’s expression at his words, Will knew that Hannibal felt it too.

“You were my last appointment for the day,” Hannibal said, and Will noted he avoided using the word ‘patient’. The doctor gathered his jacket from the back of the chair and folded it neatly over one arm. “You’re welcome to join me for dinner if you have no other plans,” he offered.

“Still trying to feed me?” Will replied wryly.

Hannibal slanted him a look of amusement underpinned by what Will might almost have called self-satisfaction if it weren't so subtle.

“Meals are best shared with friends.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] Violette de Bordeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2868554) by [Artmetica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artmetica/pseuds/Artmetica)




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